The Two Road Metaphor
Prompt: Two Roads
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Just a note: there is violence in this story and there is an allusion to a possible non-con situation, but it doesn't happen. It's more of a "what if I didn't show up..." kind of situation. But I felt it was better safe than sorry, in case anyone has triggers!
BB/N: Thank you for reading!
Sherlock Holmes was angry.
He wanted to shout and knock things over and be generally rude.
He wanted to make up an excuse to make her work late into the evening.
But he knew he didn't have the right to behave that way. It was obviously his fault that his pathologist was going out on her third date with a young doctor, a man Sherlock found no glaringly obvious faults. He was the ideal man Molly Hooper should be dating.
"I can't watch you like this anymore. Come on, we're going to get a pint."
Sherlock jumped, having forgotten that he was sitting in the St. Bart's lab and had been glaring at the door that led to the hallway. He turned his head and saw the pitying look John Watson was giving him. He rolled his eyes and squared his shoulders, pulling on his suit jacket. "Why in the world do I need to have a pint?"
"Because," John said, moving across the lab and grabbing Sherlock by the arm, forcibly pulling him to his feet. "You're obviously upset about Molly going on this date and you think you've lost your only chance with her, which you haven't by the way. If you would just grow up a bit and tell her how you really feel, you'd probably be able to go on fifty years' worth of dates with her."
"I don't feel—"
"Shut up! Don't give me that 'sentiment is a chemical defect for the losing side' nonsense. What's nonsense is that you, with your cheekbones and mystery and that hair can't even find the confidence to ask out the pathologist of your dreams on a single date."
"My hair?"
"Yes, women around the continent think it's the best thing on the planet. Don't you ever read the comments on my blog? Even Mary has said something about it, and she's my girlfriend."
Sherlock didn't say anything, but he tugged his arm out of John's grasp and straightened his suit jacket. "I don't want a pint. But we can get takeaway and watch Star Trek."
John sighed. "Alright, Spock."
Star Trek was forgotten, the DVD logo bouncing around the television screen as Sherlock stood at the window, glaring at the people walking about on a Friday night. He could hear John moving around in the kitchen and Sherlock deduced that he was getting out his best scotch.
"Sit down Sherlock Holmes. We need to have a talk."
Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John and lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not a child."
"No, you're a grown man who is behaving like one. Take this, sit, and listen to me. You can interject and deduce and whatever bullshit you fancy when I'm through." John eyed Sherlock warily until he moved away from the window and sat down in the chair he claimed as his own. John passed a glass of scotch to him, and Sherlock took it without complaint.
"Since you returned to the living a year ago, you've been nothing but considerate towards Molly Hooper. In my presence you have not deduced her unkindly, said a foul word in her direction, or tricked her into working after her shift. This entire time I've thought you two had some sort of secret relationship that you weren't talking about, but it was made clear to me a few weeks ago that this wasn't a secret relationship at all, but rather unwillingness for you to come to terms with your feelings. You've completely left Molly hanging, and a woman can only wait for so long, Sherlock."
Sherlock opened his mouth but slammed his jaw shut when John narrowed his eyes at him. "Now I've been in a fair share of relationships in my lifetime, but I've never behaved this way. And Sherlock, you're wasting your only chance to be in a happy and healthy relationship with a woman who cares deeply for you.
"There are two roads and you can only take one of them. You can watch Molly date this doctor, who is a good match for her, honestly. She's happy, and eventually they'll get married, have children, and settle down in some house in the country and grow old together. Imagine that, Sherlock. You would not only lose a woman who I know you care deeply for, possibly the first woman you've ever loved, but you would lose a friend you've grown close to, and a colleague you respect more than anyone I've seen you interact with, including myself.
"Or you can take the other road, the one that's a bit more scary and into the unknown. Sure, it has risks, you'll probably bugger it up occasionally, but you'll be with Molly. She makes you happy. She makes you human, Sherlock, do you understand? I have never seen you apologize to anyone like I've seen you apologize to her. I've never seen anyone make you smile like she does. I've never seen anyone cater to your needs without even asking a single question like Molly Hooper. She has sacrificed so much for you, and you owe that woman more than just being honest with yourself, but being honest with her, okay?"
The silence was thick between the two. Sherlock took a sip of his scotch and then placed it on the table beside him. In a voice John had never heard him use before, he asked, "What do I do?"
"I can't tell you that, mate," John said kindly, setting aside his own drink. "But I can promise that if you take the second road, even though it's not your area, the benefits definitely out weight the risks and in the long run you'll be a better human being."
"I don't want to hurt her—I've hurt her so many times…"
John sighed softly and leaned forward. "I've done my fair share of shit things towards Mary, but she forgives me because she loves me, just like Molly has forgiven you for the shit things you've done to her because she loves you. And you won't hurt her as much as you think you will. Molly isn't some delicate flower. She cuts up people and works with you for a living."
That last comment made Sherlock's mouth quirk upwards in a half smile.
"So what will it be?"
After a moment of silence, Sherlock stood up. "I'm choosing the second road."
Sherlock knew he shouldn't just barge in on Molly's date and spew his feelings for the pathologist, but he couldn't think of any other options. He's interrupted dates before, for cases, for experiments, to let her know that she was dating a married man (once), but he needed to be careful because this man was also a colleague.
He halted outside the restaurant that he knew Molly was at for her date.
Police were everywhere.
He looked through the front window and made eye contact with Sally Donovan, and she came running out to meet him. "Did she call you?" she demanded.
"Who?" He already knew.
"Doctor Hooper. She was drugged, managed to escape, called 999, the operator heard a scuffle, and we can't find her anywhere."
Sherlock felt a sweat break out over his skin and a shiver travel up his spine. "I'll help search for her. What's your mobile number? I'll call you when I find her."
After memorizing Donovan's mobile number, he went off at a sprint in the direction where she said Molly was last seen. There were quite a few places for someone to hide in the area, and Sherlock began searching every alley for a sign of her, ignoring the calls when police said they already canvased that part of the neighborhood.
Adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he ran, his thoughts solely focused on his pathologist. If she was hurt in any way when he found her, this kind doctor who she was dating would regret the day he ever laid a finger on Molly Hooper.
He would regret the day he drugged Molly Hooper.
He would regret the day he was born.
Sherlock was certain he wouldn't even go to jail if he murdered him with his bare hands.
It took ten minutes of searching to find her. Sherlock was nearly two blocks away from the restaurant before he found Molly. She was crouched behind an overflowing rubbish bin, hand clasped against her mouth, soft whimpers managing to escape.
"Molly, it's Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock called, approaching her slowly. He pulled a small torch from his pocket and flicked it on. He knelt down in front of her, his phone already pressed against his ears. Sally Donovan answered on the first ring, and the relief that Molly Hooper was found was very evident in her voice.
When he slid his phone back into his pocket, he eyed Molly up and down. He noticed blood on her hands, and his eyes widened. "Where are you hurt?"
Her hands were still clasped against her mouth and she just shook her head wildly. "Molly, I must know where you were hurt." He could see her dress was torn and hardly being held together and her stockings were ripped at her knees. Rage boiled in his chest and it took everything in him to calm his trembling hands. "Did he assault you?"
Molly slowly lowered her hands. "I stabbed him. He won't bleed to death, but he'll need medical attention."
Sherlock wanted to laugh. Obviously, Molly wasn't a delicate flower. But he forced his overwhelming emotions aside. "Are you hurt? Your dress is torn. Did he—"
"Roughed me up, but I'm okay." Her voice trembled and she shivered involuntarily. Sherlock very carefully slid off his Belstaff and wrapped it around her shoulders before tugging her to his chest.
"You're safe now," he consoled softly.
"Thank you."
As Sherlock heard the approaching ambulance and police sirens, he was thankful that John demanded that they have that conversation and he chose to take the second road, because if he didn't, who knows what state Molly Hooper would have been found in later that evening? He clutched her a little tighter, knowing that as soon as the drugs were out of her system, he would profess his feelings to her and hope that it wasn't too late.
It wasn't.